


(why do you think) they call me Papa Worldwide

by peanutbrain



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Bad Jokes, Crack, Gen, Omega has the brain cell, Papa II is a bastard, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:20:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26605093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peanutbrain/pseuds/peanutbrain
Summary: In which Papa Emeritus II is introduced to Pitbull.Or: how to get on your ghouls' nerves and cause some chaos.
Kudos: 14





	(why do you think) they call me Papa Worldwide

**Author's Note:**

> my dearest Berry ruined Papa 2 for me, so I'm ruining him for y'all
> 
> I'm not sorry ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Everyone knew Papa Emeritus the Second was a bastard. Scary to some, majestic to others, but a bastard nonetheless. Not many people knew that he was also a fucking prick with a penchant for terrible popular music and an even worse sense of humour.

In hindsight, it was all Alpha's fault—this particular fixation that Papa had acquired sometime over the course of their American tour. It was during one of those torturously long bus rides that the fire ghoul had made an offhand comment comparing the anti-pope to Pitbull. The others had snickered at that because the likeness was definitely there, with Papa's bald head, aviator sunglasses, and that tiny moustache he was trying so hard to grow. The fact that he had seemed to have no idea who they were talking about had made the situation even funnier.

Then of course he had decided to google it… And the ghouls had known no peace ever since.

Water looked like they hadn't slept in days, angrily throwing the lid of their guitar case open; their usual quiet demeanour seemed to have got lost somewhere in the bags under their eyes. Omega watched as they crouched to unpack their instrument, then shook their head, huffing in frustration. 

“You alright there?” he asked.

“Fine,” the bassist growled. “Just—this _fucking song_ is stuck in my head.”

“Which song?”

“The goddamn fucking hotel room one,” Water started saying, but was interrupted by a loud groan from Alpha.

“Don’t even mention it,” the lead guitarist whined miserably, “now it’s gonna haunt me, too.”

Omega let out a heavy sigh, looking between the two as they unpacked their guitars, Air and Earth moping around in the background. He had been familiar with the song; he had heard it again once or twice over the past few days—which was still once or twice too many for his tastes—while they were all trapped in the tour bus with Papa controlling the TV. Unlike his bandmates, however, Omega was able to block it all out: he was a heavy sleeper by nature and that last-minute purchase of noise-cancelling headphones had truly been a stroke of genius. Hence, he remained blissfully free of Mr. Worldwide and his lousy attempts at making music.

Avoiding _the other_ bald wanker in sunglasses was decidedly more difficult. 

“Ba-da-bing ba-da-boom, Papa Worldwide’s in the room!”

As if on cue, summoned by the ghouls' angry thoughts, Emeritus the Second appeared in the backstage area, still in his suit and sunglasses, a styrofoam cup in his right hand. He had the biggest, stupidest grin plastered on his face. Clearly, he was proud of that joke he just made. The ghouls only stared at him, completely gobsmacked.

Water was the first to recover. They stood slowly, clutching their bass like a weapon, and levelled the anti-pope with a murderous glare. 

“Don't you ever say that again,” they hissed, “or I'll fucking end you.”

Papa regarded them with a quizzical look, then looked at the others and shrugged, sipping his coffee. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly like he was holding back a smirk but he said nothing. He just stood there and watched his ghouls unpack and tune their instruments before they were all called on stage for a soundcheck.

Omega had a bad feeling about all this.

It didn't go away even when the soundcheck proceeded as normal. They plugged in, adjusted their settings, started playing; it seemed like the music breathed new life into the tortured ghouls and they started to relax. They tried a few of the heaviest songs first, then went on to test some quieter tones. The sound engineer told Papa to whisper into the mic while the ghouls were playing.

It was then that shit finally hit the fan.

“Just say anything!” the engineer shouted over from the console, not even looking up.

That slimy smirk on Papa’s face as he theatrically leaned close to the mic should’ve been a warning, but they were all too focused on playing to notice.

“It’s Papa Worldwide,” he whispered but Omega could’ve sworn it was as loud as a sonic boom.

The music stopped abruptly. The ghouls, once again completely blindsided by their leader’s terrible joke, collectively froze and stared in bewilderment as Papa started cackling like a maniac, backing away from the microphone when his laughter filled the room. He was trying to say something but couldn’t catch a breath.

Once again, Water was the first to react.

With a look of pure fury more befitting a fire ghoul, the bassist took off their guitar in one swift motion and carelessly threw it to the ground, lunging at the anti-pope like a feral cat. They didn’t reach him, however; Omega’s instinct kicked in and he managed to catch the water ghoul by the waist, holding them in place as they kicked and clawed at his robes in an almost desperate attempt to free themselves.

“I’m going to kill him!” they roared. “Goddamnit, Omega, let me go so I can kill him!”

He didn’t. Instead, his grip on them tightened and he was joined by Alpha and Earth, who grabbed onto Water’s arms and held them, but the anger in their eyes matched the bassist’s. None of this stopped Papa’s fit of laughter.

“I warned him!” Water screamed. “I fucking warned you, dipshit!”

“Calm down!” Omega yelled with all the authority he could muster. “And you too, Papa! Shut it, both of you!”

And as if by magic, they did. Papa finally went silent, looking at the ghouls with exasperation. Meanwhile, Water stopped thrashing and went limp in Omega’s arms, panting and staring daggers at the anti-pope. He let them go and straightened, readjusting his robes. 

“We’re performing in an hour,” he said sternly, glancing between Papa and his fellow ghouls. “You can kill each other after we’re done but for now, just do your fucking job.”

There was a moment of silence and then something clicked between the six of them. Omega’s words were answered with a choir of _yes’s_ and _mhm’s,_ and they all turned to go back to their instruments to finish the soundcheck. Before Papa could walk away, though, Omega grabbed him by the elbow and gave him a hard look.

“I know you’re doing this on purpose,” he said. “Stop it, or you’ll be dealing with me.”

Papa was silent as he narrowed his eyes and took a long look at Omega’s uncovered face. Then he just huffed, shook off the ghoul’s hold on his arm and walked away. Omega sighed and gripped his guitar.

Papa didn’t speak to them for a week after that. They never heard another Pitbull song again, though.


End file.
